You'll Be A Man, My Son
by Kath33
Summary: This is a one-shot piece. Contains some coarse language. Warren goes to visit his father at the new prison facility. This takes place some six months after 'What It Means To Be A Hero'.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High, or any of its canon characters**

**You'll Be A Man, My Son**

"Prisoner B3776, you have a visitor."

Barron Battle did not look up from his magazine. "I don't know anyone."

"He says he's your son."

"I don't have a son."

"Well you can tell him that. Get up."

Barron finally looked up, doing nothing to hide his expression of disinterest. "Are you going keep me in line if I misbehave, Al?"

The guard's hand hovered over the taser that hung in his belt. Barron thought idly of breaking the man's neck and wresting the weapon away from his corpse. But he knew it'd do no good in the end.

"Don't be stupid, Barron," the man warned.

Barron grinned. There was a time when insignificant matter like him would tremble at the mere mention of his name. Now they were bold, cocky. Scornful.

Slowly, he got up, the guard tensing visibly as he did so. That satisfied him. At least they hadn't forgotten. He allowed the man to put the necessary restraints on his wrists and ankles, and followed him reluctantly out of his cell and down the long narrow corridor that housed the others like him-

No. There was no one in the world like him. There never would be.

Because of the ankle restraints, the journey was slow. Together, he and the guard passed door after door. He learned by now to block out the screams that filtered from some of them, the deranged shouting that came from others. There was frantic muttering, weeping... Barron decided that was the worst of it.

He didn't dwell on his surroundings. He often chose not to dwell on much of anything. That was how madmen were born.

Soon he came to the visiting room. The 'empty room', as he called it. It was more or less the same as the last one at the now defunct Maxville Correctional Facility; a completely white room, with nothing else. Except one thing.

Warren was sitting on the floor waiting for him. He kept his gaze lowered as Barron entered the room.

"You have forty-five minutes," the guard said shortly.

"Thanks Al," Barron called back.

Ignoring him, the guard closed the door. And they were alone.

For long seconds there was nothing but that white room, the two of them, and total silence. Then:

"Hello Dad."

Barron looked up, almost surprised. He had drifted; for a split second managed to convince himself that he was back in his cell. It was where he wanted to be after all- in his cell, reading his damn magazine, and Warren had sent him here; couldn't he just be satisfied and leave him alone?

"How are you holding up?" Warren tried again, when he didn't respond.

"I was reading this interesting article today," Barron offered out of the blue. "About the different sentences for treason around the world. Did you know Brazil gives the death penalty?"

"Dad, just stop."

"Or what?" he asked defiantly. "What else can you do to me now? Huh?"

Warren looked at him then, not bothering to mask his guilt or sadness. "I never wanted it to come to this."

Barron's eyes glinted. "Is that what you drove all the way out here to tell me? Well, thank you Warren, thank you _very_ much. That's a real comfort."

Warren didn't answer. Barron stared at him, full of contempt and anger. He wanted to hate him too, for bringing him down like this, and all for that Arrian bitch- but he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he glared, he just couldn't. And it only infuriated him further.

Everyone said they looked exactly alike, father and son, from the moment he and Samantha brought him home from the hospital. That was a little ridiculous, he had to admit, but he believed it at the time. From the moment he looked into his child's eyes, he would have believed anything. In him Barron saw his future, all his plans and his dreams. Warren was just like him. Warren would make him proud.

What a fatal mistake that was.

"You weren't saving anyone," Warren was telling him. "You were just destroying everything."

"And still, you were going to help me."

Warren flinched like he'd been hit. "That was a mistake."

"Oh? The one time I ask you for help and it was a mistake? Have to say Warren, you sure know how to make your old man feel warm and fuzzy inside."

"What was I supposed to do, Dad? Let you keep killing people?"

"You mean kill the Arrian girl? I mean let's face it, she's all you care about now, isn't she?"

"Stop putting words in my mouth," Warren said quietly.

"Then stop lying to me," Barron snapped suddenly. "Stop pretending that your motives weren't completely selfish- that you didn't betray me just to make _her_ feel better."

"That's not true. You know it isn't. Dad-" He shook his head hopelessly. "You just don't get it. You'll never see how wrong you were-"

"Wrong?" Barron spat out. "Wrong for trying to protect you and every other super out there from a lunatic?"

"Wrong for killing all those people. For killing my friend!"

Barron took in Warren's anger and let out a soft breath. "I never hurt that girl."

"You're still responsible."

"Is that what she told you?"

Warren made an exasperated noise. "Why do you keep bringing her up? She has nothing to do with it."

"Don't give me that. There was a time when you would've done anything I asked. When you realized that family came first-"

"Not before lives."

"Before _everything_!" Barron said sharply. "Now this girl's come and put all these ideas in your head and you can barely see which way is up!"

"Oh, here we go," Warren muttered, but Barron paid no attention.

"What have I always told you? You can't trust anyone but your family. You think the world sees a Hero when they look at you? They don't, Warren. All they see is an extension of _me_."

"Don't say that." Warren's voice wavered slightly, one lilt away from pleading.

"It's true. I'm sure even that girl has her own doubts."

"Anna's not like that."

"How can you be so sure?" Barron demanded.

"You don't know a thing about her. She trusts me."

Barron smiled maliciously. "That's what you think. But the fact is, no matter how much good you do, that thought will always be at the back of her mind: 'When is he going to turn?'"

The words should have cut into him; sent him into a flaring temper like this well worn phobia usually did. But Warren was calm, unaffected- a new aspect of his son Barron neither recognized nor particularly appreciated.

"All my life, I listened to you," Warren said, in a voice that was rough and even, and nothing like Barron expected. "I did everything you ever asked. I kept to myself, never trusted anyone. If you had your way, I'd still be alone and bitter- just like you. But not anymore, Dad. I'm done."

Warren stood up and made to leave.

"You little bastard- don't you _dare_ walk away," Barron growled. "Not after you let them destroy me!"

"No one destroyed you. They just took away what you cared about most."

Barron barely heard the words. "I hope she's worth it, son. I hope she was worth ruining my life!"

Warren stopped, not turning around. The seconds stretched on and Barron felt a sudden violent compulsion to kill him right then and there. It would have been far less than he deserved for letting the authorities take him in and... do what they did. In any case, it would have been infinitely better than what Warren said next:

"I'll see you next week."

"Don't bother," Barron yelled after him as Warren went through the door and disappeared. "You hear me? Don't you _ever_ come back here!"

Barron cursed futilely, knowing that Warren would be as good as his word, and there wasn't a single thing he could do about it.

When Barron was back in his cell he didn't even look at the magazine he'd been reading. He paced fervently in the small cramped room, his blood boiling. He hated this cell with a passion he'd solely reserved for old enemies and the government. At least his former quarters looked more like a home.

He didn't like to dwell on things. That was how madmen were born, after all. But all he could think of were the plans he'd had for his family, the world, and for himself, and now Warren's betrayal- and oh, how he _raged_ inside.

He could have killed the Arrian girl so simply that night. One effortless snap of her neck, and that would have been the end of it. Warren was a strong kid- he would have gotten over it in time, just like he got over every other tragedy in his life. He would have realized then what was truly important- his family; the bigger picture.

But Barron didn't kill her. Because deep down inside he knew that was all bullshit. Warren would have never forgiven him for taking that girl away.

And try as he might, that bothered him, the kid's feelings. No matter how much Warren had wounded him, he'd never be able to return the favor. He'd ripped families to pieces, tortured dozens, yet he couldn't do as simple a thing as break his son's heart.

Hours later and tired of pacing, he sank to the floor, resting his forearms on his knees. His fingers twitched a little, a temporary side effect of what had been done to him. No more fire from these hands, not ever. That conniving bastard Brenner had won in the end, sent that monster wrapped up in the body of a little girl to end his crusade of hell on earth. He wondered how he was going to get through the rest of his life now that he was nothing but a-

No, he didn't want to face that.

He thought of Warren going back to Maxville, back to that girl he'd become so consumed with. He recalled when his son first spoke of her, the uncertain curiosity in his voice, like he didn't know what to make of the supposed enemy who had saved his father's life. And then months later, the tentative affection that crept into the way he said her name; the soft look in his eyes that Barron had never seen before, but recognized with a dawning horror all the same.

And still, he couldn't hate Warren. Because he remembered when it was _his_ heart caught good and proper all those years ago; he remembered Samantha, and all the warnings that came with her.

"I hope she's worth it, son," he repeated, his voice thick with resentment. But it seemed unnecessary.

Unhappily, he suspected she was.


End file.
